


Eye of the Storm

by Azaisya



Series: to those left behind, the dead and the dying [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Can be read as a stand alone, Chroma Conclave Arc, Gen, Long conversations about things like death, and the lack thereof, takes place fairly soon after episode 48
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaisya/pseuds/Azaisya
Summary: When Cassandra wasn't called away on official business, she liked to sit in Gilmore's room while he recovered. Sometimes, Kima would stop by, either to tend to his wounds or for the company. While their loved ones are away, the three sit and talk.





	Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot assumes that both Kima and Gilmore are familiar with Cassandra's backstory on at least a surface level and that she is also familiar with them and what they do. Honestly I just wrote this because I wanted Cassandra and Gilmore to interact and then Kima snuck her way in too. 
> 
> This takes place at some point after Kima gets to Whitestone and Pike rejoins Vox Machina for the Umbrasyl fight, but before Gilmore recovers from Thordak's attack and before Allura arrives in Whitestone.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Critical Role or any of the characters or locations mentioned below!

When Cassandra wasn't called away on official business, she liked to sit in Gilmore's room. Sometimes, she would bring a book or her needlepoint or even something to tinker with. Most of the time, however, she would just sit and talk. She wanted desperately to learn about Percy and his traveling companions, to refamiliarize herself with the brother she'd long thought lost. Gilmore, when he was feeling up to it, was more than happy to talk to her. He seemed to enjoy telling their stories, although she noticed that most of them seemed to be from Vax's point of view. He was idly curious about her, too, and asked about Whitestone and her childhood.

Cassandra liked it. She liked being able to talk to somebody who had no idea who she was. It was refreshing, to be able to leave behind her guilt and her shame, even if only for a moment.

Today was not one of those days. Gilmore was in a mood. His wounds itched terribly and he was distracted with worry about Vox Machina, and so he made a very poor conversationalist. Cassandra didn't mind. She merely sat, fiddling with some of Percy's old tools.

When they'd been children, he used to make her wind-up toys. Mice or soldiers or flowers. A lot of his old supplies had been left untouched, as such delicate materials had been useless in Ripley's pursuit of Percy's later, bloodier, inventions.

She was trying to fix one of the first things he'd given her: a clockwork mouse that could run about and stand on its hind-legs. Unfortunately, she'd lost her glasses sometime in the last five years and so she couldn't see the intricate clockwork that made up the creature's innards, and her tinkering skills were too rusty for her to intuit her way through. She was just about to call it a night when Gilmore spoke.

"Have you ever died, Cassandra?"

Cassandra looked up, startled. It was late enough that Gilmore's eyes were heavy with sleep, but he looked alert. "That's a strange question."

Gilmore laughed mirthlessly. "I can't stop thinking about it. I almost died, you know."

She nodded, because of course she knew. In the beginning, when all hands had been needed, she'd spent her time helping Pike with the injured. Pike would never express her worry, but Cassandra could see her concern in the way she hovered, in the way her eyes constantly strayed in Gilmore’s direction.

"I wonder if they would have brought me back if I'd died," Gilmore mused, distantly.

Cassandra's brow furrowed. She didn't like that sort of talk. It reminded her too much of the Briarwoods, and the suppressive reminder that death simply hadn't existed in Whitestone for five years. "Don't talk like that," she said, "You're fine, now. You'll get better. The alchemists are almost finished brewing their second batch of healing potions."

Gilmore turned his head to look out the window. Specks of snow drifted past, melting against the roofs of the city. "Pike died, you know. I can't help but wonder if the others will too."

Cassandra dropped the clockwork mouse. It skittered across the floor, several screws popping out of place, but she didn't care. Horrified, she managed, " _What_?"

Gilmore's eyes snapped to hers, genuine concern crossing his face at her strangled tone. "She's not dead anymore."

Cassandra's hands were shaking. "Yes, _obviously_ , but—"

"It's common enough among heroes of their ilk," Gilmore said, voice gentling because he knew her past and her discomforts, "Sorry. That was callous of me to say."

She crossed her arms, trying to steady herself. "I didn't know." She shuddered, remembering Lady Briarwood's body as it'd sunk into the acid. "I didn't know—" She stopped short, searching for the right word. _Good,_ she wanted to say, but that wasn't right. Lord and Lady Briarwood had not been good, but they had not been evil either.

(She ignored the voice in her head that hissed _, Still in denial, darling?)_

"I— I didn't know . . . common people could do that."

"Vox Machina is hardly common, Cassandra." Gilmore shifted, trying to sit up and falling back with a grimace.

Cassandra closed her eyes. "I'm sure they're fine," she said, voice quiet.

"Yes," Gilmore said, after a pause, but his doubt was clear in his voice.

They sat together without speaking, both consumed by their own thoughts, when they heard a knock on the door. Cassandra thought vaguely about standing up to answer it, but she didn't think her legs would support her. There was just so much _death_. Why was there so _much?_

"Come in," Gilmore called.

The door opened, revealing Kima's ashy hair. She wore a simple linen shift, as there was no need for armor at a time like this, and had a roll of bandages and several mugs balanced in her arms.

Gilmore's face split into a smile that, though tired, was genuine. "Lady Kima! It's a pleasure to see you."

Kima made a face and stepped into the room. "I'm here for the lady, not for you." Despite her words, she dumped the mugs onto the bedside table and approached Gilmore. "Cassandra, I brought hot chocolate and tea. Take whichever you want. You, Gilmore, you dreadful man, unbutton your shirt."

Gilmore laughed and obeyed. As Kima busied herself with replacing Gilmore's bandages, Cassandra stared at the mugs. It took several tries to muster the energy to get up and examine them. All three were filled with steaming liquids in varying shades of brown. She didn't know what the third one was, and didn't want to interrupt Kima to ask, so she picked the one that looked like tea and retreated to her chair, nearly stepping on her mouse as she did so.

When she took a sip, the familiar taste of chamomile hit her tongue, and Cassandra immediately felt herself relax as the hot liquid rushed down her throat and slowly spread to encompass her entire body. The coldness in her limbs seemed to fade, and she closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of the cup in her palms. 

"There. You're finished." Kima dumped the dirty bandages unceremoniously in the corner. "I'll get that later."

"Thank you," Gilmore said. Cassandra opened her eyes and stared at him. He looked much better now, his eyes focused on Kima and and not wandering off to whatever dark paths his fears led him to. 

"It's what I do," Kima said with a shrug, "Vox Machina spoke very highly of you."

Cassandra sipped her tea, her mood dropping again as she thought about her brother. Distantly, she wondered if he'd ever died.

She wondered if that was something she should be worried about.

Kima handed one of the mugs to Gilmore—"You get hot chocolate."—and then curled up in one of the seats by the window. Her pale grey eyes fell onto Cassandra, and Cassandra fidgeted. She'd come to like both Kima and Gilmore in the short time she'd spent with them. They reminded her of her brother.

Casually, Kima asked, "How are you holding up, Cassie?"

Cassandra squinted at her. The last years living under the Briarwoods had made her _very_ good at seeing through lies, and it was easy enough to see through Kima's mask to the concern underneath. "Well."

Gilmore snorted. "She's not."

Cassandra shot him a glare without any vitriol behind it. "At least I've never died."

He winced. "I am sorry I said that."

Kima put down her mug. "You fucking _died?"_

Gilmore waved a hand. "No, although that probably would have hurt less. No, I just said something stupid about heroes dying and Cassandra has every right to be angry with me."

Kima made a strange noise in the back of her throat. "Dying's a bitch. _You_ get to joke about dying because you almost died, but you're a jerk if you do it in front of her."

Cassandra spluttered. "I'm not— _I've_ almost died before."

Kima shrugged. "It's not a contest, and everybody deals with it differently."

Slowly, curiously, Gilmore said, "Have you—sorry, Cassandra, you can stop me if you want—died before?"

Kima help up her mug in a mock toast. "Just the once."

Both Cassandra and Gilmore stared at her. Distantly, Cassandra thought that being an adventurer was really a terrible calling and that her brother should probably not be doing it.

Kima sighed and put her mug down. "I guess you two didn't know? I thought it was common knowledge by now." She rolled her eyes. "Being an adventurer is dangerous. Dying isn't so bad, but it's hell for whoever has to bring you back." A humorless smile crossed her face. "Most of the time, that was me. We didn't have any clerics in our party."

Cassandra felt ill. How many people had she known had died and come back? She'd thought it was just Lord Briarwood and his vampires, but now it was Pike, it was Kima, it was these holy warriors she'd—

Kima met Cassandra's eyes, the bitterness in her expression softening against the raw fear she saw there. "Necromancy is not necessarily evil." She turned her mug in her hand. "The way clerics and paladins use necromancy is different from the way liches or vampires do. It's the same magic, but turned to a good purpose. Evocation could be used to massacre entire towns, but it is not evil."

Cassandra lowered her gaze, ashamed of her own transparency but endlessly grateful to Kima for seeing it.

Kima looked at Gilmore next and said flatly, "Pike is a very powerful cleric. They will be fine."

Gilmore met her gaze without flinching. "Allura is powerful, too."

For a second, Kima's eyes widened, and Cassandra was afraid she would get angry. Instead, she laughed. "Touché. I can see why Vox Machina spoke so highly of you." She sighed, expression turning wistful and sad. "It won't stop me from worrying."

Gilmore's lips twitched. "And there you see my dilemma."

They fell into silence, each nursing their own mugs and contemplating their loved ones, all of them far away and beyond their aid. At length, Cassandra said, "It's— it's better, now."

They looked questioningly at her, and she looked at her lap again.

"I never— I never had anybody to talk to, before. It's nice to be able to talk about this stuff, even if I don't like some of it." Her eyes flitted upwards, towards Gilmore's face. "It makes it easier."

"Good companionship always makes things easier," Gilmore agreed.

"Hear, hear," Kima said, tilting her head back and downing the rest of her drink. "Glad I met you two, and all that. Thanks for the talk." She leaped out of her chair and yawned. "It's past midnight. You two should probably sleep."

"Thank you for coming, Kima," Gilmore said.

Cassandra got to her feet too. "Thank you for everything."

Kima tilted her head and smiled crookedly at her. "It's my job. Protector of good, and all that." She waved a hand at them both before scooping up the dirty bandages and leaving the room.

Cassandra looked sideways at Gilmore. "Do you need anything else?"

"I'm fine." Gilmore put his mug on the bedside table, eyes now slipping shut. "Sleep well, Cassandra. Thank you for keeping me company."

She just smiled one last time before slipping out into the dark halls of Castle Whitestone.


End file.
